Gift Of Gratitude
by MinervaDeannaBond
Summary: After the first Quidditch match against Slytherin, Harry Potter seeks out Professor McGonagall to thank her for her gift - and he unknowingly gives her something to be thankful for as well. Set during the movie "Sorcerer's Stone."
1. Gift Of Gratitude

Remember the scene from _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone _(the movie) where Harry opens his Nimbus 2000 at the breakfast table, wonders who gave it to him, and Professor McGonagall looks over at him and smiles? I've always loved that scene to pieces, but recently I started wondering what Harry would have done to thank her. Knowing Harry and his loving nature, he'd show his gratitude for such a wonderful gift. So, I wrote this "deleted scene" from the movie, where Harry thanks Professor McGonagall for her gift - and he unknowingly gives her something to be thankful for as well.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter; all rights belong to the inimitable J.K. Rowling. I just like to have fun with the characters now and then.

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><p>"You wanted to see me, Professor?"<p>

As his Transfiguration teacher turned to face him, Harry Potter felt his stomach give a nervous quiver. Professor McGonagall, as much as he respected her, always made him feel as though he were in trouble on occasion – and this was one of them. He had always been more than a little in awe of her since the day he met her, and looking up at her now was no different than looking up at her from a great marble staircase. She was tall for a woman, and the fact that she carried herself with an almost regal air made her seem even taller – a daunting thing for an eleven-year-old. Add that to her dark hair pulled back in a bun, the intelligent, steely glint in her eyes, and her no-nonsense attitude, and it was no small wonder that no one messed with Professor Minerva McGonagall – or that Harry was a trifle uneasy as he met her gaze.

But surprisingly, her expression softened. "Yes, Potter. There's no need to look so frightened; I'm not Professor Snape, for goodness' sake." As he stifled a snicker, Harry could have sworn he saw her almost smile. "Sit down."

The knot in his stomach unbinding, Harry pulled a spare chair up to the side of Professor McGonagall's desk, nearer to her own chair. She likewise sat, her emerald-green robes billowing around her. "I wanted to congratulate you on an outstanding victory in yesterday's Quidditch match. I wanted to tell you yesterday, but the celebrations in Gryffindor Tower were so deafening that I never got the chance."

The knot uncoiled entirely and Harry felt himself smiling, incredibly enough. "Really? Thanks, Professor!"

"You're quite welcome, Potter, but in actual fact, I should be thanking you. Just don't let it go to your head, or you'll never be able to get that Nimbus Two Thousand off the ground."

At the mention of his broomstick, Harry suddenly remembered that he had something to tell Professor McGonagall. "Actually, Professor, I never got the chance to thank you, either – for my broomstick, I mean."

Professor McGonagall's eyes widened in amazement; clearly, this was a surprise to her. "Potter, how did you know it was from me?"

Harry smiled. "After I opened it at breakfast yesterday, you looked my way and smiled. I wanted to thank you because… that's one of the first gifts anybody's ever given me."

If Professor McGonagall looked surprised before, it was nothing compared to her expression now. She was totally thunderstruck at this new revelation; this insight into her young student's life. "Are you serious, Potter?"

Harry nodded, lowering his eyes at the miserable memories that came rushing back. "My aunt and uncle never gave me anything you would call a present. Last year, they gave me a coat hanger and an old pair of socks for my birthday, and I've never gotten anything for Christmas. I'm not complaining, Professor; I just… I've always thought that if someone gives you a gift, they're showing you how much they care about you. That's all I've ever wanted – to know that someone cares about me… that I'm loved. Hagrid showed me that when he gave me Hedwig, and you've done the same with my broomstick. I can't tell you how grateful I am for that."

In that instant, Harry, who had been stealing glances at Professor McGonagall, looked back up into her eyes – and what he saw amazed him. He'd known her eyes were blue, but glacial blue – hard as steel in the classroom and cold as ice when she was angry. Now, the ice had melted to reveal the azure warmth of the sky on a summer day – the warmth that emanated true compassion. For the first time, Harry was seeing Professor McGonagall's true self; the beautiful heart that beat beneath the stern exterior. And when she spoke, the same warmth was woven into her voice.

"You are so much like your mother," she said fondly. "If someone was kind to her, she returned the favor from her heart, asking nothing in return. You have been blessed with an extraordinary gift, inheriting her compassionate spirit."

"You knew my mother?" Harry asked, his heart giving a bound. Well, that would make sense – if Professor McGonagall had known his father when he was at school, than she would have known his mother as well.

"Very well. Lily was a Gryffindor in every way – courageous, intelligent, and fiercely loyal to all she held dear. And she was the most selfless young woman I have ever known. Somehow she found out when my birthday was, and she left me a gift on my desk every single year – without telling me it was from her."

"Why didn't she tell you?" Harry asked, eager to hear more. "When did you find out it was her?"

"That was the kind of person Lily was – she never wanted to be singled out for glory, for fear the other students would resent her for it. She began leaving me birthday gifts in her second year, but I didn't find out until two years after. I was coming into the classroom to prepare my lesson for the day when I bumped into Lily coming out. At first, I asked her why she was in there half an hour before class – and then I saw a red-wrapped present on my desk. All I could say was, 'It was you?' Lily simply smiled and said, 'Professor McGonagall, you've been so good to me that I wanted to thank you somehow, and this was the best thing I could think of.' And to my surprise, right then and there, she hugged me and said, 'Happy birthday, Professor – and thank you for everything.' No other student has done that for me since." In the pause that followed, Professor McGonagall met his gaze and gave him a sudden, yet welcome, smile. "Until now."

Harry couldn't help smiling back at her as he absorbed everything she had told him. To know that he was so like his mother, to hear about her great love and kindness… that was another gift in itself, one he would always treasure and would be forever grateful for. And most extraordinary of all, he had gotten a glimpse of the real Professor McGonagall – but that would be his secret to keep. "I guess we've both got something to be grateful for, don't we?"

In a sweet, unexpected gesture, Professor McGonagall laid a hand on his shoulder. "We certainly do, Potter. We certainly do."

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><p>Sweet, huh? They really do have such a special relationship. Please review!<p> 


	2. An Answer To Prayer

When I first posted "Gift Of Gratitude," I was surprised and touched at how many people wanted more to the story. Well, I'm pleased to say that now, there is - this time, from Minerva McGonagall's point of view. I've always wondered what was going through her head when she recruited Harry for the team and why she chose to buy him the Nimbus 2000, and I had enormous fun writing my version of McGonagall's take on the whole story. For my loyal readers, this one's for you!

Just as a quick note, this chapter begins right after Minerva recruits Harry for the team, segues into her decision to buy the Nimbus for Harry, and ends with the reception of the broomstick in the Great Hall, as depicted in the film. This piece is largly compliant with the movie, but I have included the dialogue from the book to continue the scene.

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><p>As she strolled along the corridors back to her office, it was all Minerva McGonagall could do to keep a skip out of her stride and a pathetically idiotic grin off her face. Merlin knew if she didn't, the students would have good reason to stare – and probably wonder if the Deputy Headmistress had been too close in proximity to one of Filius Flitwick's Cheering Charms. The last time she'd been this happy was when the Gryffindor Quidditch team, captained by then-Seeker Charlie Weasley, had triumphed over Slytherin to win the Quidditch Cup – little did she know at the time that it would be the last for five miserable years. After Charlie left, the team had been the unfortunate recipient of Nigel Sheffield, a Seeker who would always wonder why the Bludger was getting bigger before it hit him, thanks to his stubborn refusal to wear glasses.<p>

Of course, in recent years, the team had received some new members who showed terrific prowess on the field – Oliver Wood, who would block an incoming hurricane if he could and played with a lion's ferocity; Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, two Chasers who could practically read each other's minds when passing the Quaffle; and Fred and George Weasley, who were like human Bludgers themselves and thoroughly relished every opportunity they got to beat one of the heavy iron balls at an incoming Slytherin player. With this year's addition of second year Katie Bell to the Chaser trio, the team was finally starting to show some promise, but there was still the matter of the recent opening for the team's Seeker. Fortune, thank God, had intervened the previous year when "Skint-Sight Sheffield" – after being knocked off his broom for the thousandth time – finally realized nobody had placed an Engorging Charm on the Bludgers and resigned from the team.

Certainly, the Gryffindor Quidditch team had been on Minerva's mind, as the first years were supposed to begin their flying practice today, but never in her wildest dreams did she expect to find an answer to her prayers among that very group of first years. She was sitting in her office grading papers, looking up from her work every now and then to take a peek out the window. It was a glorious day – brilliant azure skies, sunshine everywhere one looked, and _a first year flying past the window? _Minerva glanced up just in time to see a boy shoot straight at her office window and reared back in her chair at the sight, her heart giving a dangerous thump at the very thought of him crashing through the window. But then, she saw him stretch out his hand and catch a small glass object, pulling his broomstick to a halt just a foot away from the glass panes. _Who is that?_

She needn't have asked herself that question, for a second look at his hovering form outside the window quickly confirmed his identity. Even with his back to her, there was no mistaking that mop of untidy black hair – she had looked at the same hair on the father of the boy who now hovered before her, and who apparently had passed his talent for Quidditch on to his son. _Harry Potter! What on earth? _Minerva rose from her chair and hurried to the window just as Harry flew away, clutching the glass ball in his hand. For a moment, all she could do was stare after him, pulling her glasses off in disbelief. Harry, God bless him, had grown up with the worst sort of Muggles that Minerva had ever had the misfortune of laying her eyes on, and based on what she had observed ten years ago, the only broom that the poor boy had ever used was one to sweep the floor. Yet here he was, eleven years old and soaring through the air like he'd been born on a broomstick. _I can't say I'm surprised, _Minerva thought, fighting the smile that threatened to steal across her face. _James always was an excellent Quidditch player; every time I turned around, he was either practicing or just flying for fun. _And the way he'd caught that thing in his hand! Not even Charlie Weasley had had such quick reflexes. _If only it weren't for the first-year restrictions! That boy would make an outstanding Quidditch player and get a chance to carry on his father's legacy... and Gryffindor just might have a chance at regaining its former glory on the Quidditch field. Heaven knows it's about time; Severus Snape gets more and more unbearable by the year when Slytherin snatches the Cup for themselves._

At this thought, Minerva couldn't help the twinge of anger that pulsed through her. As a student at Hogwarts, Severus Snape had been bright, but constantly and consistently the object of torment by James Potter and his best friend, Sirius Black, whether it was on the Quidditch field, in the classroom, or any other time that James and Sirius got the opportunity to display (show off, more like) their many outstanding talents. Of course, Minerva had punished them whenever their shenanigans went one or two steps too far – she loved James and Sirius and frequently got a kick out of their endlessly inventive antics, but she was a professor and Deputy Headmistress besides. She had a reputation for being strict but fair, and under no circumstances was she going to break her personal code of conduct in favor of the golden boys of her own House, which Snape seemed to take great pleasure in doing every time one turned around these days. Unfortunately, back then, Snape seemed to have an inkling that Minerva favored his hated rivals deep down, and now that he was a professor himself and head of Slytherin, he gloried in lording his House's year-in, year-out victories – in both the Quidditch and House championships – over her on a daily basis. Just last year, Gryffindor had suffered their worst defeat on the Quidditch field in years at Slytherin's hands and Snape just could not pass up the opportunity to tease Minerva every day for the next six weeks. Resisting the overwhelming urge to slap him in the face and add another bump to his already crooked nose, Minerva had gritted her teeth and avoided him like the plague, unable to look him in the face for the duration of that period. Many a night had she prayed for a miracle, and now it looked like her prayers had been answered… but at what cost? If she took this step, why was she doing it in the first place?

_Why _should _the first-year restrictions be bent purely because I'm tired of being picked on? Many would probably call me selfish for wanting to recruit a first-year only to assuage my wounded feelings and get a taste of glory again; shame on me. But this isn't just about me. This is about Harry Potter. That boy has probably never had a bit of fun in his life, and he really looks like he loves flying already. James would be so proud of him… _Minerva rose from her chair, her mind made up. _I'm doing this for Harry. He deserves this much more than I do. Now comes the hard part: making it look like he's in trouble before springing the surprise on him. Actually, that shouldn't be too hard; I had plenty of practice with James when he was that age. _

Two minutes later, Minerva had rushed out of her study and outside into the bright sunshine, sweeping toward the group of excited first years in the rear courtyard, all of whom were crowding around Harry Potter, who had just landed amid their cheers and slaps on the back. _Time to break up the party. _"Harry Potter!"

At the sound of her voice, Harry turned around and his smile vanished when he laid eyes on Minerva. Every Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw present likewise clammed up and stared from Harry to their professor with worried expressions, while the Slytherins grinned and snickered in anticipation of the famous Harry Potter being punished for breaking the rules. Really, she was going to have to speak to Snape about the example he was setting for his students, but then again, she never could recall any Slytherin having any trouble setting the standard for being an absolute tosspot. But that would have to wait for another time. "Follow me," she barked, waiting for Harry to step out of the crowd. She eyed him for a moment as he approached her, but she turned away and began leading him back into the castle. Outside, she knew she was the image of the infuriated teacher, but inside, she was fit to bursting with joy. If God was willing, Gryffindor would have a new Seeker when the day was out.

The two of them strode down the corridors until they came to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where Quirrell was currently holding court. Just before they reached the open doorway, Minerva stopped and turned to Harry, throwing out an arm to halt him in his tracks. "You wait here." Nodding once to acknowledge her, Harry grew roots and Minerva strode forward to poke her head into the classroom.

"Professor Quirrell, excuse me. Could I borrow Wood for a moment, please?"

After staring at her rather stupidly for a second, Quirrell stuttered yes, and Minerva motioned at a strong-built fifth-year sitting at the back of the room, closest to her. Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, got up from his seat and followed her out of the classroom, where Harry was still waiting, broomstick in hand.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood," she said to Harry, gesturing at Wood by means of an introduction. "Wood…" Minerva finally allowed herself a smile, unable to keep her excitement under control any longer. "I have found you a Seeker."

Harry looked confused at the simple statement, but Wood's reaction was the exact opposite. His entire face lit up with delight and he said, "Are you serious, Professor?" as though hardly daring to believe that all of his dreams had just come true.

"Absolutely. The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it." Minerva reverted her gaze to Harry, whose expression now mirrored that of a mountain troll trying to tie shoelaces. "Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?" When Harry nodded and seemed to relax slightly, Minerva continued to Wood, "He caught that thing in his hand after shooting toward my window at breakneck speed and pulled away just in time. Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Just from looking at Wood in the next instant, Minerva wouldn't have been surprised to see him leap in the air and whoop for joy. "Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Minerva explained to Harry to try and clarify a few things for him.

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. "Light – speedy – we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor – a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. _Flattened_ in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks…"

On this note, Minerva took the opportunity to remind Harry of the seriousness of his new position. "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you." But then she smiled at him. "Your father would have been proud. He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."


	3. A Surprise For Harry

This chapter is a little short, but I have my reasons for making this a chapter on its own. I originally had it as part of what is now Chapter Two, because I thought that Chapter Two was going to be a one-shot. As it turned out, the finished product was going to be way too long for a one-shot, so I decided to split the rest of the story into three parts. This part details Minerva's decision to buy the Nimbus and then its delivery in the Great Hall.

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><p>Amazingly, Minerva hadn't had to put up much of a fight with Dumbledore regarding the first-year Quidditch restrictions. He'd warned her that they couldn't constantly make exceptions like this, but agreed without a murmur otherwise. Although he had claimed that the only reason they were bending the rule was to give Gryffindor a more even footing with the other three houses this time around, Minerva strongly suspected that Dumbledore wanted his former House to shine once again… and that he wanted to give Harry a chance just as much as she did.<p>

_Harry… _It had only been a few days since recruiting him for the team, and Minerva still felt a swell of gratitude every single time she thought of him. Bless the boy; he had never heard of Quidditch before and didn't have the first clue about the rules, but he had agreed to take the position of Seeker nonetheless, most likely to please her because she had recommended him in the first place. And he hadn't crowed about this newfound triumph, which pleased her to no end. As great as James had been, when he was in his teens, he had the bad habit of bragging on himself and showing off in front of his friends and every girl in sight – Lily Evans in particular. Harry was at the opposite end of the spectrum, for all he had done during the entire discussion was nod, smile once, and wonder what on earth was going on, and even now with the whole school buzzing about Gryffindor's new Seeker, he still wasn't letting it go to his head. _He's so much like Lily. Gentle, thoughtful, and grateful. He may not have said thank you for getting him on the Quidditch team, but I could see it in his eyes. He's grateful for a chance to prove himself; that he's worth something. I'm grateful to him myself, but I wish there was some way I could show him without being impartial…_

All of a sudden, it came to Minerva out of the blue. Wood had spoken to her about getting Harry a decent broomstick to fly in the matches. Why shouldn't she buy it for him, not only as a must, but as a gift? It would be the perfect way of expressing her gratitude without words, and best of all, he would know without her having to tell him. _A decent broom… what did Wood say? A Cleansweep Seven? No, they're good, but not good enough. A Seeker needs a fast broomstick, one that will send him soaring toward the Snitch like the wind itself. A Nimbus Two Thousand, on the other hand… that's the broom for Harry. _Smiling to herself, Minerva pulled out her latest copy of _Which Broomstick? _and began filling out the order form in the back.

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><p>The day after Halloween, the day of the first Quidditch match of the season, the entire populace of Hogwarts was seated in the Great Hall, eating a good breakfast in preparation for the day's events. Minerva's appetite hadn't faltered, but she noticed that Harry seemed to have trouble getting his fork to reach his mouth. <em>Poor lad, he's nervous. Hopefully, when his little surprise arrives today, he'll get the boost of confidence he needs.<em>

Not five minutes later, Minerva's prophecy came true. Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig, soared into the Great Hall and dropped a huge package straight into his arms before flying up to the High Table… and landing right on the tabletop in front of Minerva. She smiled and stroked Hedwig's soft feathers before stealing a glance at Harry, who was now tearing the brown paper off the package with the help of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Once the Nimbus Two Thousand was revealed, all three of them regarded it with wonder. Harry, the most astonished of all, suddenly glanced up at the teachers as though wondering who on earth could have sent him such a present. _Who, you ask? _Minerva thought, continuing to stroke Hedwig and then meeting Harry's eyes – and sending him a warm smile across the Great Hall.

In that instance, Minerva knew that Harry had gotten the message. He knew she had sent him the broomstick… but did he know exactly why? Oh well, that could wait for another time. Right now, her heart filled as Harry flashed her a smile and a nod back, as if he thanked her without words.


	4. From The Heart

My thanks goes out to everyone who's read and reviewed - your comments have meant the world. Here's the meeting once again, this time from Minerva's POV.

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><p>"You wanted to see me, Professor?"<p>

At the sound of his voice, Minerva turned to face Harry Potter, only to see him shrink back just a little. When she'd asked him to remain behind after class so she could speak to him, the firs thought that had coursed through Harry's mind was probably _Am I in trouble? _No one could contest the fact that Minerva could spot trouble quicker than anyone else in Hogwarts and quell it even faster, and the students were both respectful of and intimidated by her as a result. Harry was indeed looking up at her with respect, but his body language was betraying nervousness clearer than any sound or spoken word – and it wasn't the first time, either. Every time she called on him in class or gave him a reprimand, he flinched like he was about to be beaten… which was no surprise, if what she had witnessed from his _family, _if they even deserved that title, was anything to go by. _Poor lad, I'm not trying to terrify him. Half the students think I'm scary as it is, and he certainly doesn't deserve it. _"Yes, Potter," she said, her normally stern façade softening. "There's no need to look so frightened; I'm not Professor Snape, for goodness' sake." The corners of Minerva's mouth twitched as she audibly heard Harry stifle a snicker. "Sit down."

His body relaxing noticeably, Harry took hold of the spare chair she had gestured at and pulled it up close to the side of her desk. Minerva sat down in her own chair, pulling her robes more snugly around her as she did. Once Harry was seated as well, Minerva clasped her hands together in her lap and turned a kind eye on the boy before her, feeling a strong urge to stroke his hair, take him in her arms, anything any mother would do. "I wanted to congratulate you on an outstanding victory in yesterday's Quidditch match. I wanted to tell you yesterday, but the celebrations in Gryffindor Tower were so deafening that I never got the chance."

Any remaining tension coiling Harry's body vanished and an astonished grin lit his face. _My, he does resemble James. _"Really? Thanks, Professor!"

_He may resemble James in looks, but not in attitude. Had I said this to his father when he was this age, James would have puffed himself up and crowed about his victory like one of Hagrid's roosters. Harry looks surprised and he sounds truly grateful – as am I. _"You're quite welcome, Potter, but in actual fact, I should be thanking you. Just don't let it go to your head, or you'll never be able to get that Nimbus Two Thousand off the ground."

Suddenly, Harry's eyes sparkled and he leaned forward eagerly, like he was on the verge of confiding some precious secret. "Actually, Professor, I never got the chance to thank you, either – for my broomstick, I mean."

Minerva blinked in surprise. She'd seen the way he'd acknowledged her from across the Great Hall yesterday, but never did she think he'd actually come to her and thank her for the gift she'd given him. Feeling that merely stating "You're welcome" would seem too egotistical, like she had expected some grand thank-you all along (like those no-good relatives of his), she decided to feign a little innocence. "Potter, how did you know it was from me?"

Harry's lopsided smile, so much like James's grin, widened. "After I opened it at breakfast yesterday, you looked my way and smiled. I wanted to thank you because… that's one of the first gifts anybody's ever given me."

Now _that _was a wallop to the stomach. Minerva could do little more than stare at Harry for a good minute after this revelation. Of all the things she had been expecting, this was not one of them. _Those worthless excuses for Muggles; they didn't even give him one gift? Nothing for Christmas or his birthday, or just to show him they cared about him? Sod that last part, they probably spoiled their own son rotten and lorded it over Harry, just like Cinderella's stepmother and stepsisters lorded their good fortune over her. If I turn out to be the fairy godmother of this little story, then I'll have done a good thing for Harry, bless him. _"Are you serious, Potter?"

Harry nodded and lowered his eyes, no doubt ashamed of the images that were now flooding his memory. Why he should be ashamed bewildered Minerva; it was his aunt and uncle who deserved to be ashamed. Deserved to be hexed into next year, more like, but Minerva kept her personal feelings to herself and let Harry speak.

"My aunt and uncle never gave me anything you would call a present. Last year, they gave me a coat hanger and an old pair of socks for my birthday, and I've never gotten anything for Christmas. I'm not complaining, Professor; I just… I've always thought that if someone gives you a gift, they're showing you how much they care about you. That's all I've ever wanted – to know that someone cares about me… that I'm loved. Hagrid showed me that when he gave me Hedwig, and you've done the same with my broomstick. I can't tell you how grateful I am for that."

Harry raised his eyes back to hers at that moment, and Minerva felt a tug at her already swelling heart. She'd seen those huge green eyes staring back at her from another, beloved face – the face of the woman who'd passed her beautiful heart and spirit on to her son. _James' face, but Lily's eyes and spirit. I never thought I'd meet another person as loving and selfless as Lily Evans, but even our best suppositions can be proven wrong. _

"You are so much like your mother," Minerva said, casting a fond look upon the boy. "If someone was kind to her, she returned the favor from her heart, asking nothing in return. You have been blessed with an extraordinary gift, inheriting her compassionate spirit."

Surprise sparked in Harry's eyes and he burst out, fervor evident in his voice, "You knew my mother?"

"Very well. Lily was a Gryffindor in every way – courageous, intelligent, and fiercely loyal to all she held dear. And she was the most selfless young woman I have ever known. Somehow she found out when my birthday was, and she left me a gift on my desk every single year – without telling me it was from her."

"Why didn't she tell you?" Harry leaned forward, an eager smile on his face; clearly, he was ravenous to hear _anything _about his parents. "When did you find out it was her?"

"That was the kind of person Lily was – she never wanted to be singled out for glory, for fear the other students would resent her for it. She began leaving me birthday gifts in her second year, but I didn't find out until two years after. I was coming into the classroom to prepare my lesson for the day when I bumped into Lily coming out. At first, I asked her why she was in there half an hour before class – and then I saw a red-wrapped present on my desk. All I could say was, 'It was you?' Lily simply smiled and said, 'Professor McGonagall, you've been so good to me that I wanted to thank you somehow, and this was the best thing I could think of.' And to my surprise, right then and there, she hugged me and said, 'Happy birthday, Professor – and thank you for everything.' No other student has done that for me since." Pausing to take a breath, Minerva flashed Harry a warm smile. "Until now."

_If only you knew just how much joy you've brought me in this moment, Harry, _Minerva thought upon seeing Harry's happy grin and his eyes sparkling like emeralds. _It's the least I can do to show you that you are cared for and you are loved… loved by me, dear boy. And you always will be. _"I guess we've both got something to be grateful for, don't we?" Harry said, gazing up at her with new respect shining out of his eyes.

For the first time since he was an infant, Minerva laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, grateful indeed that she had this boy to love. "We certainly do, Potter. We certainly do."


End file.
